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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305561">Scars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurtheGatekeeper/pseuds/ArthurtheGatekeeper'>ArthurtheGatekeeper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathing/Washing, Buff Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt gets all bothered by Jaskier's ankles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Learning to trust, M/M, Scars, Scent Kink, Sharing a Bed, as both are obligatory in this fandom, eventually</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:55:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurtheGatekeeper/pseuds/ArthurtheGatekeeper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt was covered in scars. He didn't mind. They were just a part of him.</p>
<p>Jaskier had his own scars that he kept carefully hidden. They were a part he didn't particularly like.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>891</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bard was staring at him when he climbed out of the stream. But the moment he caught his eye he turned away. Red faced and mumbling an apology.</p>
<p>“What are you apologizing for?” Slipped out. Because it was the first thing the brat had apologized for in their weeks of travel. There had been a lot of things he could have apologized for. Watching him when his shirt was off didn't make the extensive list.</p>
<p>“Staring.” He went back to his careful washing of his more delicate clothing. Bare feet and calves chilling in the water, his pants rolled up to the knee.</p>
<p>He sniffed. Trying to sort out what was the problem. He’d been getting better at determining the more specific emotions the bard produced by smell. It was something to do on the road.</p>
<p>Embarrassment mostly. Arousal somewhat. </p>
<p>“You’re apologizing for being attracted to me?” He guessed.</p>
<p>“What?” He twisted sharply, starting a denial as he fell into the stream completely. He sputtered as he regained his balance. “That’s not what I- I mean really- Maybe you’re attracted to me and youre just- what’s the word - projecting! That’s- You’re projecting! I’m not!”</p>
<p>“I don’t care.” He told him. “And I can smell that you are.”</p>
<p>He sunk under the water to hide his blush. His eyes wandered lower. To his chest.</p>
<p>“You should get out of those clothes so they can dry too.” He reminded him after a few moments. Retrieving his own laundry. “Since they’re wet now.”</p>
<p>He was already in just his trousers and long sleeved undershirt. No point in not washing them now that they too were soaked.</p>
<p>“No!” He snapped too quickly. “They’re fine. Don’t distract me.”</p>
<p>He frowned but left the bard to shiver in his clothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bed was big enough at least. He threw off his shirt and pants. It was too hot to sleep in more than his underthings.</p>
<p>Jaskier stayed in his shirt and trousers as always.</p>
<p>“You can take those off.” He pointed out. “I’m not going to do anything.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t mind if you did.” He mumbled under his breath.</p>
<p>“You remember I can hear you right?” Because it really only seemed fair to make sure Jaskier knew that.</p>
<p>His ears turned red but he confidently replied “Of course i did.” The bed protested as he flopped onto the aged mattress. He rolled onto his side and studied him.</p>
<p>“Just ask already.”</p>
<p>“You really don’t mind people looking at them?”</p>
<p>“My scars?” He nodded. “No. Why would I?”</p>
<p>Jaskier had no answer for that. Fiddled with the strings of his shirt in the silence that stretched after.</p>
<p>He sighed. “Want to hear a story about one of them?”</p>
<p>His eyes lit up like igni. “Yes.” He withdrew just a portion. “If you want.”</p>
<p>He pestered him for stories constantly. He didn’t know what the hesitation was with his scars. But he picked one at random and told the story. Ignoring the pleasant curl of joy in his belly at the sparkle, the focus, in Jaskier’s eyes as he spoke.</p>
<p>It was nice to be heard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s going to scar.” Jaskier reported despondently about the hole he’d managed to sow closed in his gut. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“I’m alive.” He shrugged one shoulder. Half asleep already. “That’s what matters.”</p>
<p>“I agree obviously. Clearly that’s the important part.”</p>
<p>“Hey.” He cracked an eye open. Taking in his pale and shaking form. Curved into himself. Pulling the throat of his shirt closed and his sleeves down. “You finally let your mark.”</p>
<p>He snorted. “This is not what i meant.”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind.” The painkiller was finally kicking in. He’d be out soon enough. “It’ll remind me of you.”</p>
<p>“Oh great. You’ll see an old wound and think of me. Lovely.”</p>
<p>“Proof im still alive.” He mumbled. “Cause of you.”</p>
<p>If Jaskier responded he didn’t hear it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blood. He raced back to camp. Jaskier laid there. Holding his gut. Roach and their things gone.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s hazy eyes met his as he knelt next to him. “Sorry.” He ripped his shirt off. Tore a bandage from it. “Bandits.” He explained weakly.</p>
<p>He went to pull off Jaskier’s shirt so he could get at the wound. Wrap it proper until they had their things again. Jaskier held it down with his weakening hands. “No.” He protested. “Not pretty like you.”</p>
<p>“If i don’t patch you up you wont be alive like me either!” He snapped.</p>
<p>“Would you miss me?” He asked as his head lolled to the side.</p>
<p>“Sure.” He pulled the shirt up and began his work.</p>
<p>“More than anyone else?” He whimpered in pain. Eyes glazed over and drooping.</p>
<p>“No.” He finished wrapping the wound. “Roach would miss you more.” He smoothed down his hair. “Stay awake. I’ll be back soon.”</p>
<p>“Don’t leave me.” He plead. Tears welling and falling faster now.</p>
<p>“I have to.” He’d die without their supplies. He pulled his shirt down, ignoring the scars from his back that had been so large they’d curved around his sides. “Stay.” Stay alive.</p>
<p>He raced away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can you.” He swallowed. “Help?”</p>
<p>He looked up from his sharpening. The bath behind the divider awaiting his still dressed form. He nodded and stood.</p>
<p>The wound wasn’t open anymore but he still couldn’t move freely. He’d listened to him struggle to change clothing each morning. Forgoing it completely some days. Most days. He really needed the bath.</p>
<p>Jaskier stood facing him as he helped remove the sweat infused undershirt. He didn’t think about how much he wanted to bury his face in it. Steal it for winter. Sleep with his nose buried in its familiar scent.</p>
<p>He turned away and Jaskier shuffled into the bath gingerly. He hissed as the warm water- had he made it too hot?- settled around him.</p>
<p>He stood there. Facing the divider. Unsure if he should leave.</p>
<p>Jaskier helped him bathe when he was injured. Also when he wasn’t. He just liked to. That didn’t mean he had to help Jaskier. Or that it was wanted.</p>
<p>He’d finally committed to leaving when Jaskier sighed heavily. “Would you?” He glanced over his shoulder. Jaskier was holding out the soap in one hand but had sunk under the surface. Eyes ahead. Nose just above the surface.</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>He started with his hair as Jaskier scrubbed down his front. His back pressed firmly against the wall of the bath. He could still see the white scars that snaked up the back of his neck.</p>
<p>“I’m not ceramic Geralt. You can use a little force. You’re not going to rip my hair out for cripes sake.” He scrubbed harder until he yipped at him “Well not that hard!”</p>
<p>“Thought you said you liked it rough.” The blush climbed from his cheeks to his ears down the back of his neck, reddening even the scars slightly.</p>
<p>“Well sure. But maybe not while I’m still recovering from the last guy who wanted to show me his<i> sword</i>.” He twisted his head to smirk at him. “Bet yours is nicer.”</p>
<p>He pulled his leg up towards him and grimaced. Unable to bring it close enough to wash the dirt that accumulated at the top of his socks and unwilling to lean forward.</p>
<p>“May I?” He asked reaching for the soap. Jaskier handed it over. Stuck his leg out for him to hold.</p>
<p>His calf was solid under his hand as he scrubbed down his shin. His ankle. His foot. The nervousness of Jaskier’s scent relaxing into contentment. Even as he held the fragile bones in his powerful hands.</p>
<p>He could break Jaskier’s ankle like this. Right now. It would be easy.</p>
<p>He didn’t want to- he wouldn’t. But the trust. The faith in him. Was hard to breathe around.</p>
<p>Jaskier let out a contented sigh and he forced himself to lower the foot back into the water. </p>
<p>Jaskier stretched out the other for him. He tried not to think about how Jaskier had filled out the sleeves and shoulders of his shirts and seat of his trousers in the past months.</p>
<p>He paused over a raised scar on his knee. Was he allowed to see this one? Or was this like the collection on his back?</p>
<p>His thumb ran over it. Smoothing the thick hair. Jaskier’s eyes opened just a crack.</p>
<p>“It’s not an interesting story. I could pretend it was if you’d like?”</p>
<p>He lingered for a moment more before continuing to free his calf from the heavy layer of dirt that had accumulated on the dusty road. “Boring one’s fine.”</p>
<p>“I was running after another child and tripped. Cut my knee open on a brick.” He closed his eyes. Lips tilting up as he started massaging the dirt from the sole of his foot. “See? Dull. Not a monster in sight. A real shame.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” He tried to remember if he had any similar scars. But with the exception of a few from training he couldn't recall any. They’re all too faded or the wounds had been to minor to scar.</p>
<p>He’d gone over Jaskier’s toes twice now. He lowered the foot into the water. He was <i>not</i> disappointed by the loss of contact. Because that would be silly. He stood to depart. Jaskier has either already washed the rest or it was a part he wasn't allowed to see.</p>
<p>Namely, his back.</p>
<p>“Geralt?” Softly. The shape of his name said so softly. Like it might rend in two if he said it louder. “I can’t. Reach my back right now.”</p>
<p>He swallowed. “Do you want me to?” </p>
<p>Silence. it settled over them. He listened to the steady beating of their hearts and waited.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” He said without conviction. “Sure.” With slightly more. “They’re just scars.”</p>
<p>The fear and uncertainty rolling off him corrected him.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to.” He reminded. </p>
<p>“I want to feel clean. Just. Help me.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” He stepped behind him. Jaskier shifted forward slightly. Curling in as much as the injury would allow.</p>
<p>His back was a lattice work of scars. Small to large. Stretching around his sides, up his neck and down the curve of his ass.</p>
<p>They were old. Jaskier was too young for them to be old. But they were. They’d all had years to fade.</p>
<p>That was a relief at least. That whoever did this didn't anymore.</p>
<p>He started his task.</p>
<p>“Not going to ask?” Came his brittle voice. Curled up in the bathtub.</p>
<p>“No.” Quick and methodical. He was done and wrapping Jaskier in a towel but a minute later. Helping him from the bath. Into a clean shirt that covered the tapestry of pain.</p>
<p>Jaskier leaned his head into his chest. “Your scars are pretty.”</p>
<p>He didn’t think so. But he didn’t think they’re ugly either. They were just a part of him. Reminders of what he’d survived. The mistakes he’d made. The victories he’d claimed from the jaws of death.</p>
<p>They weren’t beautiful or ugly. They just were. That was all. He hm’d noncommittally. </p>
<p>“You don’t care if people see them. I wish I could do that but I. I.”</p>
<p>He guided him to the bed. Forced him to lay down.</p>
<p>“They're a testament to my failure.” He said eventually. </p>
<p>“So are mine.”</p>
<p>“You earned those fighting monsters.” He argued from inside the bundle of blankets he’d already wrapped himself in. “I got mine for not sitting still.”</p>
<p>He suspected there was more than that. He’d had plenty of corporeal punishment during training and it didn't leave scars like that. Couldn’t have. But Jaskier so rarely could stop himself from talking when he wanted to talk. So he didn’t press.</p>
<p>“Sounds like quite the monster.” The bed creaked as he laid down. His blanket over his shoulders, in the hope he might manage to keep one tonight. Which he doubted. Jaskier was a blanket stealing bastard.</p>
<p>A spark returned to his eye. “You think so?”</p>
<p>“A real water hag.”</p>
<p>“That would have explain the smell.” He smiled. He igned out the light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They beat literacy into me at temple school.”</p>
<p>“My Father had a fondness for his cane.”</p>
<p>“And to no ones surprise, I was a disobedient little shit.”</p>
<p>Innocuous little things to say. Especially when they were wrapped in a laugh and a brilliant smile.</p>
<p>The stream was lazy and cool. He stripped to his underclothes. Beating the grime from them.</p>
<p>Pale skin entered the side of his vision.</p>
<p>He didn’t turn. Not. Noticeably. But his mouth was dry as he took in the pale skin unbaked by the sun. The firm muscle Jaskier had grown into these past months. The dark hair that covered his chest and legs and-</p>
<p>And the countless raised scars that adorned his back.</p>
<p>He lowered himself further into the water to offset the rising heat. Jaskier. Jaskier was gorgeous. It was unfair of him to- to- to ogle him when he’d finally felt comfortable enough around him to be undressed.</p>
<p>But he remembered the arch of his foot under his hand and the delicate bones of his ankle under his palm and how relaxed Jaskier had been and-</p>
<p>He sat firmly down in the stream to halt any untoward reaction.</p>
<p>“People expect them on you.” He blinked. Had he missed the start of the conversation? “But bards aren’t supposed to. We’re supposed to be pretty and unmarked. We’re not supposed to remind people about that sort of thing, you know?”</p>
<p>He risked a glance at him. Bent over. The curve of his ass in his underclothes on full display as he scrubbed travel from the fabric.</p>
<p>The water wasn’t nearly cool enough.</p>
<p>“I don’t.” Jaskier prided himself on his appearance. He couldn’t relate. His body served a function. How it looked while it did that was unimportant.</p>
<p>“I suppose that’s fair. I just. I’d rather not carry around reminders of everything I failed to be. I’m not that person anymore. And I wish i didn’t have to carry him on my back, scaring off interested parties.”</p>
<p>The stream bubbled down its way.</p>
<p>“If your not that person anymore,” He started, unsure of how he’d be received, “Then i’m glad you failed to be him.”</p>
<p>Jaskier stared at him incredulously. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Because you wouldn’t be here.”</p>
<p>Jaskier inhaled sharply. He saw his hand raise to his chest and he turned away. The admission that he wanted Jaskier here was. Terrifying. Even if he hadn’t outright said it.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t want him here. If he really cared about Jaskier he’d make him leave. Make him stay in a town with plenty of food and drink and money and that wasn’t at risk of bandit or monster attacks. If he really cared he’d leave him.</p>
<p>But he was a selfish monster. So he didn’t.</p>
<p>He was tackled. Knocked fully into the stream. He came up. Sputtering. Cursing Jaskier. “What the hell?”</p>
<p>He laughed. Brightly. Filling the world with joy as the sun with light. “I knew you liked me you grumpy old snowman!”</p>
<p>He dunked him in the stream.</p>
<p>Jaskier pulled him under as well.</p>
<p>They stayed there. Pushing and shoving and splashing until their clothes had drifted far down the lazy stream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bed wasn’t that big.</p>
<p>Usually it was big enough. Tonight. It definitely wasn’t.</p>
<p>He’d made the mistake of taking his shirt off- fall might have been coming but it was still hot on the second floor.</p>
<p>The heady scent of Jaskier’s arousal had nearly knocked him over.</p>
<p>It. It had just been a while since the last brothel. It didn’t need to mean anything specific. But it was. Everywhere. It couldn’t breathe in without bathing in it. Couldn’t breathe without reacting to it.</p>
<p>Jaskier sighed. “You’re so handsome.”</p>
<p>He was stuck. Back turned to Jaskier. Shirt in his hands over his quickly tenting pants. Inhaling that scent. He wanted to know what it would taste like on his tongue. What Jaskier would look like as he did. Wanted to run his hands over every inch of soft and scarred skin until Jaskier was crying out under him. Until he knew exactly what Jaskier tasted like. Felt like. Sounded like.</p>
<p>“Geralt?” Jaskier shuffled behind him and he couldn’t move. “<i>oh</i>.” His stomach dropped. Jaskier was going to leave or be repulsed or- “Want some help there?”</p>
<p>His head was full of wool when he twisted his head just slightly to look back at him. “Huh?”</p>
<p>“Got-“ Jaskier smirked up at him. Flexed his long fingers. The tips calloused from playing. The knuckles with their faint white scars. “Two hands.”</p>
<p>He was on top of Jaskier before his next heartbeat. Kissing him. Touching him. Feeling the way he breathed under his hands.</p>
<p>He pulled back. The scent so all-encompassing it made his head spin. “You’re sure?” He managed as Jaskier kissed up his jawline. Took his ear lobe between his teeth and gently threatened.</p>
<p>“Oh definitely.” He assured. Breath hot against his ear.</p>
<p>His fingers ran down Jaskier’s sides. Over the handful of scars that stretched beyond the plane of his back. Smoothed over the still pink scar on his belly. He moved down to kiss it. And then kiss lower.</p>
<p>“You’re beautiful.” He whispered into the thick hair of his pelvis where the scent was strongest.</p>
<p>Jaskier shivered and he realized his hands had snuck around to his back. Tracing the scars it found there. Trying to memorize them by touch.</p>
<p>“Despite them?” He whispered.</p>
<p>“No.” He firmly stated as he nuzzled Jaskier’s growing length. “They’re a part of you. You’re beautiful.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>And then they didn’t do much talking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jaskier laid on his stomach. Letting him trace the lines of his back. Contentment filling the small space.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I can love them.” He mumbled into the pillow as he followed one lash down the small of his back.</p>
<p>“Hm.”</p>
<p>He turned his head to look at him in the orange candlelight, cheek in the pillow. “Do you love yours?” His eyes cataloging each one on his torso.</p>
<p>“No.” Because he didn’t. “But I don’t hate them either. They’re just a part of me.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” He closed his eyes. Relaxing into the pillow. “It feels wrong. I love my voice. My fingers. My hair. It feels like I should love them too. And I don’t. I can't.”</p>
<p>“Do you love your ankles?”</p>
<p>“My ankles?” He snorted. “Never given them much thought if we’re honest.”</p>
<p>He had given them a lot of thought. That wasn’t the point. “Like that then. Some parts are just. Parts. Don’t have to feel strongly about them.”</p>
<p>“Do <i>you </i>feel strongly about them?”</p>
<p>Yes. He felt very strongly about the indecency when Jaskier took off his shoes and socks when they found a particularly soft meadow to run in. The way water ran over them when they stood in rivers or streams. The way they’d felt in his palm. The trust Jaskier gave him each time he was allowed to hold the fragile bones in his hands.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes. “Don’t ask unless you want a second round.”</p>
<p>“Well then!” Came his impressed reply. “I shall endeavor to remember that!”</p>
<p>He pulled a blanket from Jaskiers already growing hoard. “Shut up.”</p>
<p>“Nah. Don’t really go in for that.” The grin coming through.</p>
<p>He hit him with the pillow.</p>
<p>“You brute! I call bardic abuse! Bardic abuse! Shame on the Witcher! Shame on you!”</p>
<p>“Go to sleep or they’ll be pressing far worse charges.”</p>
<p>“How dare.” The bed creaked and Jaskier pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”</p>
<p>“Not cute.” He mumbled.</p>
<p>“The cutest.” Those long fingers brushed through the mess of his hair. He was asleep before he could protest further.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed! Someone on tumblr requested Jaskier with scars and him coming to accept them and I was like. Yeah okay i dig that. I know this Jaskier isn't There yet but. He will. Hope you enjoyed this little journey! And as always remember that comments and kudos make the words go! Keep your stick on the ice yall!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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